


tell me in words unspoken

by firstlovelatespring



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Season 1, Yuletide 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 14:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16914978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlovelatespring/pseuds/firstlovelatespring
Summary: It’s terrifying to feel something this strong and to not even know if he’s making it all up in his head.





	tell me in words unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theheartischill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartischill/gifts).



> I hope you like this, theheartischill!
> 
> thanks to seekingferret for beta reading, and to bad bad hats for writing the titular song lyric

It’s Thursday night, and Peter and Sam are probably the only people under forty in this Michael’s. Peter is holding a basket, trailing behind Sam as he scours the aisles for supplies for the doc. They’ve been planning all week, but it hasn’t quite felt real until now. They get post-its and markers and thumb tacks, and then just walk around the store for a while, flickering with excitement like the sharp fluorescent lights.

Peter stops in front of the knitting and crochet aisle. “Hey Sam, do you think we should get, like, string?”

Sam turns around and strolls back towards him, clearly relishing every exaggerated movement. “Oh my God, Peter, you thought I wasn’t gonna get string? Production on our true crime documentary starts in—” He checks his phone— “sixteen hours, you thought I wasn’t gonna get red string.”

“Okay, okay,” Peter says, putting up his hands in mock surrender. “If you think it’s  _ absolutely necessary _ to prove Dylan innocent, we’ll get string.”

Sam grins. “I think you mean guilty, but okay.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but he holds the basket out for Sam to throw the yarn in anyway. He makes the shot, and it’s from about three feet away, but it feels like a good omen. They stand there for a moment, just soaking up the anticipation. Then Sam approaches him, slowly, and reaches out his hand. Sam locks eyes with him, and Peter can’t look away. There’s something between them, something more than anticipation, but Peter isn’t sure exactly what it is. What he even wants it to be.

Before he can decide, Sam grabs his glasses.

“Hey, give me those!” Peter says, chasing Sam down the aisle.

Sam bats his hands away, running towards the checkout and now wearing his glasses. “What up, I’m Peter, I’m 16, and I never fucking learned to watch crime dramas!”

And then they go to pay. Lights, camera, string. Action.

*

“We need a new angle,” Peter says, staring at the corkboard. It’s late, and they don’t have any more leads, nothing left to go on. He knew this doc wouldn’t be without challenges, but is this it? Is this the end of what they can dig up? He doesn’t owe anything to Dylan, or to anybody, but Peter would feel so awfully incomplete if they never found the truth.

“Okay, how about this,” Sam says, holding up a photo of Mr. Maeda’s car. “Maybe we can get more from the way the dicks were drawn. Like, we looked into ball hairs, maybe.... who at Hanover High is circumcised?”

Peter groans.

Sam claps his hands together and stands up. “Yes, this is it! How could we not have seen this before?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because it’s totally irrelevant?”

“I thought I was talking to Peter ‘journalistic integrity’ Maldonado, who would leave no dick unturned to find the truth!” Sam says, already writing  _ Who is circumcised? _ on the whiteboard in red marker.

Peter throws an eraser at him.

Sam dodges. “Hey! How is this different from when you got Scott Winter to flash you in the locker room?”

Peter splutters. “I didn’t ask him to do that.”

“Nope, but he did,” Sam says, capping the marker decisively and grinning at Peter.

Peter shakes his head, but he’s smiling too. “We are not putting this in the doc. If people don’t already think we’re gay…”

“I can’t  _ believe _ you’re implying I only want to investigate this ‘cause I’m gay. Is that how little you think of my journalistic integrity?”

“Yes,” Peter answers immediately. “But you know what, screw it. Let’s find out who in this school is circumcised.”

Sam whoops, and starts digging in his backpack for last year’s yearbook. They make their way through the student body. Peter knows this is a little ridiculous, but it feels good to be in motion again. Natural, almost. It reminds him of reading about mutualism in freshman biology—clownfish need sea anemone to live, and sea anemone need clownfish just as much. Now that the doc is back on track, so is Peter. He’s always defined himself in terms of movies, first as film buff and now as a filmmaker, but it’s never been like this before. It’s never been so all-consuming. He doesn’t want it to end.

*

“Oh my god,” Peter mumbles. “Oh shit! Sam, wake up!”

Sam startles awake from where he had fallen asleep on the desk. It’s Friday night, or really early Saturday morning, and they’re combing through footage from Nana’s party.

“What, what is it?”

“Look at this.” Peter points at the monitor. It’s small, but it’s there: a can of red spray paint.

Sam’s eyes widen. “Oh shit! Do you think that’s the—”

Peter toggles to another window, which is a Google image search of the brand. “It’s the exact same can.”

Sam claps him on the back and looks over at him just like he was looking at the spray paint. Like he’s the answer. Peter lets himself gaze back into Sam’s bright eyes until Sam rolls his chair closer to sling an arm around his shoulders. He leans his head on Peter’s shoulder and says, “God, I love you.”

Peter leans back. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you wanna be in ‘Xanax Nation 2.’”

Sam laughs, and Peter feels it more than he hears it. “No, like, seriously, dude. That was amazing. I really… I love you.”

Peter doesn’t answer. He wants to ask, “Are you sure?” He wants to ask, “Do you really love me? Or do you just love the puzzle?” Because he wants—

The doc is going to end. The mystery of who did the dicks is going to be solved, and then what? Does this new feeling, this easy chemistry that is growing between them, go away? Peter’s not sure if he could stand that. He wants to ask, “Do you feel it too?” because to let himself even put these thoughts into words, he has to be sure. It’s terrifying to feel something this strong and to not even know if he’s making it all up in his head.

It’s the kind of thought he would usually only indulge himself inside his head, but since Peter’s ninety-five percent sure Sam is asleep, he says, out loud, “Me? Really? Not just the doc?”

Sam doesn’t answer. His breathing is even on his shoulder, and Peter knows his own answer to the question. Sam is his best friend. There’s no way to know what’s going to happen after the doc, after sophomore year, after high school graduation, but he can’t imagine any of that without Sam.

*

Tonight is coolest night of Peter’s life. He’s here with Sam at the Netflix launch party for  _ their _ documentary, the one that they spent hours upon hours filming and editing and puzzling over. Peter has shaken the hands of so many famous people tonight he’s lost count. It hasn’t felt entirely real.

Peter is standing outside, because even though it’s amazing being in there, he needs a break. It’s almost too much. He opens Snapchat: the Wayback Boys are hotboxing Dylan’s car in the woods, Ming is getting drunk at Emily Hershey’s party, Gabi and her new girlfriend are at the movies; then he checks Instagram. He actually posted to his story tonight, which is something Peter doesn’t usually do, but then, nothing about this night is usual. All his friends from Hanover are up to regular high school Friday night things, and he’s here outside a Netflix launch party, and fucking  _ Lana Condor _ has seen his Instagram story.

He tries not to think about it too much. By the time Sam comes to stand outside with him, Peter is watching slime videos on his Explore page.

“I was looking for you,” Sam says, leaning up against the wall next to him. It’s not like this is the first time Peter’s seen Sam in a suit, or even the first time tonight, but he still takes a second to notice how good he looks. 

Peter slides his phone into his jacket pocket. “Yeah, I just needed some air.”

“It’s pretty crazy in there,” Sam says. He’s holding a couple of miniature quiches, and he offers one to Peter. He takes it, and they chew in companionable silence.

“Did you see Zac Efron is here?” Sam says after a while.

“Yeah, he said he loved the show.”

“Oh my god, dude.  _ Zac Efron _ has seen  _ Vandal." _

“I know,” Peter says, and they fall into silence again. It’s unreal.

What’s real, though, is Sam, standing next to him. Now that the documentary is over, he wants to say something. The book isn’t closed on another project together, or on the rest of high school together as friends, for that matter, but now that no piece of art hangs in the balance, it seems like the time to take a risk. Dylan Maxwell’s not going to be on the hook for a hundred thousand dollars of vandalism if Peter tries to kiss Sam and he gets rejected.

Peter’s thinking about how, exactly, to proceed with this in mind when Sam says, out of nowhere, “I figured it out.”

“What, who did the dicks?” Peter asks. He gets that this is rich, coming from him, but now doesn’t exactly seem like the time for investigative reporting.

“No. Which one it is.” Sam smiles at the ground, and Peter waits for him as he takes a shaking breath. “I love the mystery and the fearless journalism of it all, but I also, uh. I love you.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Um,” Peter says. He’s smiling now. “You heard when I said that, I guess.”

“Yeah. And I— When you asked, I really didn’t know the answer. Like, do I just like you because of the doc, do I like you ‘cause you’re my only gay friend, ‘cause of that dumb shirtless pic you posted to Instagram—”

“It was aesthetic!” Peter splutters. “And I took it down.”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something here, dude. Let me finish insulting you so I can properly confess my feelings for you.”

Peter, in a move of composure that surprises himself, rolls his eyes.

“Anyway. I was thinking a lot about what you said. Because I would really hate to mess this up or lead you on or anything, you know? And now we finished the doc. And we’re at a fucking Netflix launch party, and I could be inside talking to Lea Michele about whether or not she can read, and instead all I could think about was looking for you.”

“And you found me,” Peter says.

“I found you.”

For once in his life, Peter doesn’t think about the future. He doesn’t think about the next project, or next year of high school, or what he plans to do after that. He’s just here, with his best friend in the entire world. He closes his eyes and lets Sam kiss him.


End file.
